


In the Cold Dark Night

by ereshai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Slash, Supernatural Creatures, Vampire Phil Coulson, Werewolf Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's whole life changed the night he was attacked by a vampire and became a creature of the night. It's about to change again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weepingnaiad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/gifts).



> Now with [art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11832399) by [Huntress79](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/pseuds/Huntress79)

Winter is a mixed blessing for Phil - the nights last longer, but he has to be careful that nobody notices that they can’t actually see the breath leaving his body when it’s really cold. Or that his cheeks don’t get rosy; it only takes the right person to notice and then he’s got strangers asking around about him. He’s ashamed to admit that it took him a couple of winters to realize that a scarf mostly solves both of those problems. It’s not enough to make him consider moving to a warmer climate; warmer usually means sunnier, and there’s the whole lack of sweat issue. At least winter nights are less populated by innocent bystanders. That makes it easier to find a meal.

Three of the men gathered in the dark alley certainly aren’t innocent - the biggest of them is holding a fourth man against the nearest building, his fist raised and pulled back to strike. The other two are laughing and urging him on.

“Pop him in the gut next, Bill. Payback for that lucky punch,” the shortest one says. There’s a red mark on the side of his face.

“Just the once, Jim?” Bill asks. He sounds like he already knows the answer.

“Give him one for each of us. See, you shoulda just handed over the wallet. Now you gotta pay for inconveniencing us,” Jim says to their victim.

“Add another for Jimmy’s face,” the third man says with a grin.

The trapped man whimpers and shakes his head franticly. Blood is trickling from his nose and splotches of it are staining the hood and front of his coat. The scent of it had drawn Phil from two blocks away.

Bill is a big man, the kind that’s all muscle under a deceptive layer of fat. Even one blow from his meaty fists could rupture something internally, especially on a slender man like their victim. Phil really can’t let that happen. He walks toward the group, dropping what he likes to call his invisibility cloak - he’s not really invisible, just profoundly ignorable - pulls his scarf down, and says, “Hey, fellas.”

“Keep walking,” Jim tells him dismissively.

“Sure,” Phil agrees amiably. “As soon as you let him go.” He gestures at the trapped man.

“Maybe you want to join him? I said keep walking.” Jim has hardly looked at him; he obviously doesn’t consider Phil to be much of a threat. Most people don’t. They never had, even before he’d become what he’d become. Phil has to admit he enjoys being underestimated. It’s petty, but Phil loves the look on a thug’s face when he realizes that Phil’s more than he appears to be. He likes to think he’s contributed to the decrease in crime rates in the many, many places he’s lived since his life changed so drastically.

A low, rumbling growl echoes through the alley and the three men freeze.

“Jimmy, is that…” the third man asks in a trembling voice.

“It’s nothing,” Jim says, his eyes searching the shadows. “Just a dog, that’s all.”

“The Baker boys said they was chased by a wolf,” Bill says. He’s released his victim and is now facing away from Phil, looking deeper into the darkness. Freed, the man slinks away and takes off running down the sidewalk, his feet slipping on the snow and ice several times.

“The Baker boys are idiots,” Jim snaps. “And so are you. He’s getting away.”

Another growl cuts off Bill’s reply. Jim finally turns his full attention on Phil. “Is it you? You the one setting a dog on people just trying to make a living?” He doesn’t give Phil time to answer. “Bill, Drew, grab him.”

Despite their preoccupation with whatever animal is lurking the shadows, Bill and Drew are quick to jump at Jim’s command. Phil lets them grab a hold of him and drag him off the sidewalk; he doesn’t need witnesses to what he’s about to do. They shove him against the same stretch of wall their previous victim had occupied.

“Now then,” Jim begins. “Call off your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog,” Phil tells him. The growling stops abruptly

“Show him what happens to liars, Bill.”

Bill plants his fist in Phil’s stomach. Phil barely feels the blow; he doesn’t bother to fake a reaction. He grabs Bill’s arm and pulls him forward, moving to one side so Bill hits the wall face first and ends up in a heap on the ground. Drew gapes at them; Phil reaches out and shoves him, knocking him back several feet. He stumbles and falls down on his ass; he doesn’t try to get up again and sits there, his eyes wide with fear.

Jim pulls a gun and points it a Phil. “What are you on, old man?” The gun is shaking.

“Old?” Phil protests. “Jim - may I call you Jim? Just take a deep breath. You’ll feel much better.” Phil tries to calm him with the limited mind control he is able to use when feeding. He’s had limited success using it at other times - very limited. It doesn’t work now; Jim is shaking even more. Phil isn’t worried about being shot, but he’s wearing his favorite shirt and he doesn’t want to see it ruined. Not to mention the unwanted attention that a gunshot will bring.

A large creature bursts from the shadows and rams into Jim, knocking the gun from his hand. Jim reels back and hits the wall. The creature turns and advances toward him, growling. From what Phil can see, it could be a wolf. Or a very large dog.

“Call it off, man,” Jim shrieks. “Call it off.”

Phil lifts his hands in a helpless shrug. “It’s not mine.” Phil has much better luck using his mind control ability on animals; if it attacks, he’ll be able to stop it. If that doesn’t work, he’s fast enough to stop it physically. For now, though, it’s only putting a good scare into the thug. Too bad calling the police is such a bad idea.

Jim starts to creep along the wall, moving toward the street. The wolf-dog continues to growl but stays where it is, ready to pounce. When Jim gets close to Drew, he helps him get to his feet and they both back away slowly. They round the corner of the building and as soon as they’re out of sight, Phil hears their footsteps pounding on the pavement as they run away. One of them crashes into something and someone says something in a slightly hysterical voice, but Phil can’t quite hear what they’re saying. Eventually they move too far away to hear anything and Phil is left to deal with the wolf-dog.

Which has turned toward Phil and is now staring at him. There’s no question in Phil’s mind that he’s dealing with a wolf - there’s nothing remotely tame about the beast. He - Phil’s not sure if the wolf is actually male, but he can’t exactly ask and he’s certainly not going to check - takes a few steps closer and sits down, his eyes locked with Phil’s.

Phil’s not sure what he would have done next; at that moment, the unconscious thug at Phil’s feet groans and rolls onto his side. The wolf goes on alert and begins to growl again.

“Hush,” Phil says, putting the strength of his mind into the command. The growl ends in a whine and the wolf almost seems offended, but he stays quiet. Phil kneels next to Bill - he’d been out that night for a reason, after all - and bends down, his face close to the man’s neck. His scent is an unpleasant mixture of old and new sweat, dirt, and wet cloth, but Phil can’t detect any drugs, legal or otherwise. He gives a mental nudge - it actually works this time - and Bill slips into a deep sleep.

Phil takes what he needs - not enough to cause any lasting damage - and closes the wounds, leaving behind only a couple of unremarkable bruises. When he lifts his head, he finds the wolf standing right next to him, their faces only inches apart.

The wolf sneezes. Phil can’t help his startled flinch. He surges to his feet and backs up a few paces; just because the wolf can’t actually hurt him doesn’t mean he wants it close enough to maul him at will. The wolf advances and Phil sends a mental command: _Back off_. The wolf bares his teeth and rears up on his hind legs, planting his paws on Phil’s chest and pushing him back against the wall. His hot breath washes over Phil’s face.

Before Phil can try to escape, the paws pressing against him begin to shift and grow, lengthening into human hands. The rest of the wolf follows suit, the light-colored fur melting away, the muzzle shrinking, the body twisting and shifting and expanding until a naked man is standing before him. His pale skin is practically glowing in the light from the street.

“What the fuck is your problem, fangface? You can’t just go around violating the Accords like that,” the man snarls.

Phil doesn’t answer, too busy trying to process what he’d just seen. The logical part of his brain is pointing out that he really shouldn’t be so surprised that other supernatural creatures exist, but it’s buried under the panicked realization that there’s a werewolf pinning him to a wall and he has no idea how strong werewolves are or how a fight between them would end. There’s also a tiny part - the part he’s been ignoring for at least two years now - that’s noticing that there’s a very attractive, very naked man very, very close to him.

“Didn’t your Maker teach you anything?”

“No.” Phil has a hunch that the werewolf isn’t talking about God. The vampire responsible for his current state hadn’t exactly introduced himself, much less explained anything - Phil had barely caught a glimpse of his face. He has been figuring things out on his own ever since.

The werewolf looks startled. “What clan are you with?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

Phil shakes his head. Clan? There are enough vampires in the world to warrant an organizational system? How has he gone two years without meeting another vampire? Or anything else supernatural? What else is out there?

The werewolf steps back, his anger replaced by confused concern. “Who’s your Master?” His hold on Phil loosens.

“Master? Is that the same as Maker?” Everything he’s learning just brings up more questions. Apparently, being a vampire is even more complicated than he’d imagined.

“Sometimes. For fang- vampires.” The werewolf releases Phil entirely. “You don’t have anyone?” he asks in astonishment.

Phil shakes his head again. “I have a lot of questions, if you wouldn’t mind answering them.”

“So do I. And so will Fury.” The werewolf shudders and looks down at himself, as if suddenly realizing he’s not dressed for the weather. “Shit. I need some clothes.” He looks around. “Okay, we can’t do this here.”

Phil nods. That’s only logical, but he’s not going to offer up his only safe place as a meeting site. The werewolf seems to be local - let him figure it out.

“There’s a diner down the street - Mel’s. You know it?”

“Yeah.” Of course he’d noticed a place called Mel’s Diner. He’d even gone in once. No waitresses named Flo or Alice worked there, according to a prominently placed sign. The coffee had been good, but he hadn’t felt comfortable there and he’d never gone back.

“Meet me there in fifteen minutes. I’ll bring the Master of my clan.” He starts to leave, then turns back abruptly. “What’s your name?”

“Phil,” he replies before he thinks better of it. Maybe he shouldn’t be giving his real name to total strangers.

“Okay, Phil. Try to pull your vampire mind tricks on me again - or any member of my clan - and I’m turning you over to my Master for judgment. The only reason I’m letting it go this time is because you obviously don’t know about the Accords.” Without waiting for a response, the werewolf turns away and leaps forward, shifts to his wolf form before he hits the ground, and runs back into the shadows of the alley.

Phil’s impressed, but he reluctantly suppresses his admiration. It seems vampires and werewolves don’t necessarily get along. Hopefully it’s just this particular werewolf who doesn’t like vampires; otherwise his meeting with the Master werewolf isn’t going to go well.

He rouses his unconscious blood donor and waits to leave until he’s sure the man’s going to wake up - Phil doesn’t want him to die of exposure. The walk to Mel’s Diner only takes a few minutes. He claims a booth in a corner and sets his back to the wall so he can watch the door. When the waitress - _Daisy_ , her nametag says - stops by, he orders a cup of coffee.

The coffee is just as he remembers, as is his discomfort. It’s as if someone is behind him, staring at him, which is impossible. There are a couple of other customers, but neither of them is looking in Phil’s direction. An invisible person is now an actual possibility that he has to consider, but there just isn’t room. Maybe someone with x-ray vision, like in the old comic books Phil used to read as a boy (and as a man - he’s not ashamed).

Before he can drive himself batty with the limitless potential creatures and powers that could exist, the werewolf he met in the alley walks in, clothed this time, followed by a tall, bald, black man with an eyepatch and a trenchcoat. He must be the werewolf’s Master. They turn unerringly toward Phil and walk over to join him in his booth.

Daisy brings both men a cup of coffee without waiting for them to order. The customer service smile she flashes at Phil isn’t as relaxed as it had been earlier. “May wants to talk to you when you’re done with him,” she says and leaves without offering Phil a refill on his coffee.

“Phil. I’m Nick Fury,” the Master says abruptly. He rests his hands on the table in front of him, his fingers interlaced, and leans forward slightly. “Clint tells me you’re some kind of lone wolf.”

Phil flicks a glance at the werewolf - Clint - and tries not to smile. Fury’s poker face is unreadable and if the pun wasn’t intentional, Phil doesn’t want to get on his bad side by laughing at it. “You could say that.”

“I’m curious as to how that came to be.” It isn’t a question, but Phil answers it anyway.

“Two years ago, I was mugged. Only instead of robbing me, the guy drank my blood and then forced me to drink his. I woke up a few hours later, went home, and started figuring stuff out. Moved around a lot. Now I’m here.” There’s more to the story, so much more, but he’s not going to get into it with total strangers. Some things are better left in the past.

“Your Maker wasn’t there when you rose?”

Phil shakes his head. “I was alone.”

Clint mutters something that sounds like ‘hit and run’, which doesn’t make much sense to Phil in this context.

“You had no help whatsoever?” Fury seems very concerned about his answer.

“It’s not like I knew there was some kind of supernatural community, or how to get in touch with it if I did. I just learned tonight that there are other creatures besides vampires. I learned through trial and error.”

Fury takes a sip of his coffee and eyes Phil speculatively. “Most newly created vampires are prone to bloodlust. They have to be controlled and taught by their Makers or a lot of mundanes end up dead. That brings unwanted attention to the rest of us. So forgive me if I seem a little skeptical that you sailed through that stage without any trouble.”

“Or a body count,” Clint mutters.

Phil tenses. “I raided a blood bank. I stayed away from people - mundanes.” He’d even made plans to drive out to the middle of nowhere and let the sun take him if the unquenchable thirst didn’t let up. It had, eventually. He’s still not sure if the decision to continue living was the right one.

“All right. I'll take you at your word." Fury sat back and adjusted his coat. "I know you have questions, but there’s too much to get through everything tonight. You need to be taught our ways and you need to learn proper control of your abilities, and that will take time. My clan is willing to help you, just as we help all lost beings who need it.”

“Can werewolves teach me to control my abilities?” Phil asks doubtfully.

“As it happens, there is a vampire in my clan. Lesson one: most beings tend to stick to their own kind. My clan is the exception to that. In fact, Clint is the only werewolf among us.” Fury looks steadily at Phil. “There is another option. I can put you in touch with Pierce, the Master of the closest vampire clan.”

Fury’s face is still unreadable, but Clint is tense beside him, his face averted. Something about Pierce’s clan upsets him? Or is it vampires in general? Phil shouldn’t make decisions based on a somewhat hostile stranger’s reactions, but it’s enough to make him wary of this unknown clan. On the other hand, why should he trust these people? He can’t decide without more information.

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Smart man. I like that. Let’s say a week. You can meet the rest of my people, see if that helps you make up your mind about us.”

“And if I decide against asking help from either of the two clans?” It’s been lonely at times, but Phil has gotten used to his solitary nomadic life, answerable only to himself.

“You’re too dangerous to be let loose without knowledge. Not killing mundanes is only part of it; one mistake can bring dangerous attention to all of us. I can’t allow that to happen.”

The implication is clear. Phil even agrees with Fury’s reasoning. That doesn’t mean he likes to be threatened. He resists the urge to throw Fury’s offer in his face; he hasn’t survived this long, human or vampire, by being stupid and impulsive.

“All right. You’ll have my decision within a week.”

“Clint will introduce you around and make sure everyone knows they can talk to you. I’ll leave you two to hash out the details - you’ll want to get started as soon as possible. You’ve got a lot of people to meet.” Fury rises from the table. His coat swings oddly and catches the light, and Phil realizes it’s not really a trenchcoat, but a cloak of black feathers. For a moment, there’s a nimbus of golden light around him, and then Fury’s walking over to the lunch counter. He looks almost ordinary again - as ordinary as a being like him can be, anyway.

Phil looks back at Clint, who is staring at him with a strange expression on his face. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other for a while.”

Clint shrugs. “It’s how we do things. I found you, you’re my responsibility. Do you have a cell phone?” He pulls a phone out of his coat pocket.

Phil retrieves his phone - he only carries it out of habit now; it's not like he has anyone to call - and they exchange numbers.

“I know we’re on a time limit, but do you mind if we get started tomorrow night? This has been a lot to take in,” Phil says as he puts his phone away again.

Relief flashes over Clint’s face. He shrugs. “It’s your deadline, not mine.”

“Do you have a problem with me?” Phil sees no reason to pussyfoot around. It _is_ his deadline, after all.

“No more than I do with any stranger in our territory.” Clint wrinkles his nose. “It’s just… You smelled better before you drank that guy’s blood. It was… nice. Now you smell like my- not good.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t realized that his scent changed after his meals.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?” Clint gets up and joins Fury at the counter, where he is talking to a petite black-haired woman. Judging by their not-so-covert glances in Phil’s direction, they are talking about him.

Phil finishes his coffee as he ponders what he's learned in such a short amount of time. He puts enough money on the table to pay for the coffee and Daisy’s tip and gets up to leave. As he’s going out the door, he realizes the sensation of being watched had vanished at some point during his conversation with Fury. He glances through the window as he walks past and finds the black-haired woman watching him. Just for a moment, the sensation returns. She looks away and it stops. Phil suspects he’ll be talking to her very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil has a decision to make.

Pop culture had not prepared Phil for being a vampire. He’s been doing all right figuring stuff out, though. Yes, he has to drink blood. Sunlight is extremely painful, perhaps even fatal. He’s not a reanimated corpse; he has a heartbeat, slow though it may be. He still breathes oxygen, but he can hold his breath for a very long time. Based on his increased strength, tolerance for pain and ability to heal from even the most severe wounds, immortality is a possibility, but he won’t know definitively until he actually lives forever. And then there are his special abilities, like the hypnosis he has limited success in using. For everything that he discovers he can do, he has a dozen questions.  The thought of finally getting some answers is making him impatient. The sun has set - he’s waiting for Clint’s call so he can finally meet Fury’s clan.

There’s a knock at his door and Phil is instantly wary. One of the first things he’d taught himself was to listen for people nearby – not just their footsteps or other typical noises, but their heartbeats and the sound of their breathing. Whoever is at the door had gotten there in complete silence.

Phil goes still and _listens_. He can hear his neighbors on either side, as well as the cat in the apartment across the hall. He can even hear the slight creaks and groans of the building settling; the space right outside his door is a disturbing absence of sound. Who – what – could it be?

Another knock.

“C’mon now,” a man says through the door, “I know you’re home. I just want to have a friendly chat.”

The unknown man has a cheerful, friendly voice with a Southern drawl. Phil is instantly wary.

“I made the trip up here just to talk to you,” the man continues. “If you want, I can talk to you through your door, but I don’t know what your neighbors will think.”

Only a couple of days ago, Phil would have been confident in his ability to handle any potential threat. Now, with his newly acquired knowledge of the supernatural world – as little as that is – he has no idea how he stacks up against other supernatural people. Especially someone like the person outside his door, who has either learned to mask the noises of his body or has none at all.

“I don’t have a lot of time to wait around, Phil. Are you going to open the door or not?” The man still sounds friendly, but there’s an edge to his voice that Phil doesn’t like. He really doesn’t like the fact that this stranger knows his name.

On the other hand, this mysterious person could have attacked without warning, and Phil couldn’t have done anything about it. He unlocks his door and opens it.

The man on the other side looks… ordinary. “Smart man,” he says with a grin that shows all of his teeth. “You letting me in?”

Phil is hit with a sudden urge to please this man, keep him happy, and he steps back before he can think better of it. While he’s wrestling with his uncharacteristic obedience, the man saunters inside.

“Close the door, Phil,” he says easily.

Again, Phil catches himself doing what the man wants. Once the door is closed, he turns and sets his back to it, his arms crossed over his chest. “Who are you?”

“Oh, you can call me John,” the man answers.

“Why are you here?” Phil’s no longer feeling any compulsion to obey, but he doubts that’s due to his strength of will. Apparently, John has abilities he can only imagine.

“I thought you might want to have a chat with one of your own kind before you get too involved with the mongrels.”

“My own kind?” Phil isn’t the type to dance around hard subjects, but it almost feels like saying the word vampire right now is a trap. Never assume, he reminds himself. “You mean middle-aged white men?”

“That’s a good one,” John says genially, his large smile fixed firmly in place. “I think I’m going to like you.”

Phil raises an eyebrow and waits.

“This is no time to be coy, Philly-boy.” John is still smiling, but his eyes are sharp. “I’m talking about vampires. Creatures of the night. Blood-suckers. Stop me if you’ve heard of any of these.” Before Phil can answer, he adds, “I mean it, because we’re coming up on words from other languages and I still don’t know how to pronounce most of them.”

“You’re a vampire.” Instead of relief at meeting someone who can answer his questions, all he feels is a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Like his only other encounter with an actual vampire, this has the potential to end very badly for Phil.

“Just like you,” John says with satisfaction.

Phil suppresses a snort. “I somehow doubt that.”

John’s grin gets impossibly wider. “Well, you’re just a baby yet. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“We? You’re part of the vampire clan that Fury mentioned?” Fury had probably sent word to them about Phil’s existence. A little warning would have been nice.

“That’s us. If you’re planning to stay in the area, you need to be part of a clan.” John shrugs. “Them’s the rules.”

“What if I don’t choose either clan?” Fury had more or less threatened to murder him if he didn’t join a supernatural clan; would the vampires do the same?

“We’re allied with most of the big clans across the country – vampire, of course. If we don’t suit you, I’m sure we can put in a good word for you with them.” John is all affability now, the sharpness gone from his smile.

“I see,” Phil said, then added quickly, “Thank you.”

“Listen. You don’t know me.” John begins to wander around the room, pausing to examine the generic painting that had come with the place. “You don’t know my Master. You’re hesitant. I get that.” He stops at Phil’s small shelf of books, one of the few luxuries he allows himself. “Fury’s got his ideas. I can’t say I agree with them all, but he’s a good guy. Mostly.”

Phil finally steps away from the door. He doesn’t want this stranger roaming around in his space. He deliberately relaxes his shoulders as soon as he realizes how tense they are. “He’s giving me some time to consider joining his group. Clan.”

John reaches out and picks up a framed picture of Phil’s parents. It’s the only one he kept from his former life. “Like I said, Fury’s a good guy. But he isn’t one of us. They still alive?” John looks over at him and tilts the picture toward him.

“No.”

John sets the picture down again and turns to face him. “You’re new to this. You need guidance. So here’s something to think about while you’re considering Fury’s offer. Can a group of people with no idea what you’re capable of teach you properly? Will they understand how to help you? What accommodations you’ll need? My clan is my family. We understand each other. We take care of each other. I’m not sure Fury’s clan can say the same.”

Phil stands helplessly in the middle of the room. Joining the vampire clan would be the sensible thing to do. Who better to teach him what he needed to know? But all he knows about other vampires comes from the one who’d attacked him and the man in front of him, who has already demonstrated that he could make Phil do what he wanted, at least for a short time. Fury at least had given him a chance to get to know his clan.

“Take my card.” John holds out a business card. “Let me know when you make your decision, all right?”

Phil takes it. There’s a name, _John Garrett_ , and under it a phone number, both embossed in gold on the heavy paper.

“Fancy, right? My Master insists on treating us to the best of everything. We have money and resources that have been amassed over centuries.” John looks around at Phil’s tiny apartment. “And I _know_ Fury’s clan can’t say the same about that.”

Phil isn't sure how to respond. It sounds good - very good. But he just does not have enough information. "I'll let you know," he says finally. He's going to go ahead with his original plan and meet with Fury's people. At least now he had options.

"I'd love to stay and chat," John says, "but I've got a few more things to take care of before the sun comes up. Stay in touch, all right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he saunters over to the front door and lets himself out. As soon as the door closes behind him, Phil slumps against the nearest wall. He feels like he's just faced down a dangerous predator.

He doesn't have much time to collect himself before he hears someone in the hallway. The footsteps stop outside his door. The person's heartbeat is steady, but a little faster than the average human. Despite the lack of a phone call, he hopes it’s Clint. He can't be sure until he opens the door, and he curses himself for not paying attention to Clint's heartbeat the night before. He has no idea what is typical for werewolves, much less what's typical for Clint. With his luck, his new visitor is yet another person who wants him to join their supernatural gang. Maybe this one will come with matching leather jackets to sweeten the deal.

Finally there's a knock and Phil goes to the door. "Hello?" he calls, his hand on the knob.

"Hey. You wanna open up?"

Definitely Clint. Phil opens the door.

Clint is standing there, wearing a leather jacket and Phil suppresses a smile. Clint’s nose is wrinkled and his brow is furrowed in a look of deep disgust.

Phil sniffs the air, but he doesn’t notice anything off. "Something smell bad? My neighbor down the hall uses a lot of garlic. Which doesn’t seem to bother me, so the whole vampires and garlic thing probably isn’t true."

Clint glares, but all he says is, “You ready? Not everyone keeps late hours.”

“No small talk? Okay. Let me just get my coat.” Not that he needs it, but it helps him blend in.

Blending in is obviously not something Clint is worried about. Between the decidedly non-winter coat and lack of hat and gloves, a regular human being would be shivering and blue with cold within minutes of going outside. Phil feels like an idiot beside him, all bundled up like _he’s_ a regular human being. How will the rest of Fury’s clan react to that?

As the elevator doors close, Clint abruptly says, “I thought you didn’t know any other vampires?”

“I didn’t, until the visitor I got not too long ago showed up,” Phil says mildly. “And weren’t you supposed to call first? How did you know where I live?” He definitely hadn’t given Clint his address, which was the point of the phone call.

“I sniffed you out,” Clint tells him and Phil tries not to laugh. He doesn’t know if that’s supposed to be a statement of fact or werewolf humor. “What visitor?”

“A man who goes by the name John Garrett. He has a very nice business card.”

Clint grimaces. “One of Pierce’s minions. I’ve never actually met him.”

“Good guy? Bad guy?” It would be nice to get another perspective on Garrett’s offer.

Clint shrugs. “He’s one of Pierce’s.” As if that is all the explanation needed.

“Very helpful, thank you.”

The elevator slides to a stop and the doors open. “C’mon,” Clint says and leads the way out into the lobby and through the front door.

Their first stop is _Mel’s_. Clint waves at Daisy in greeting as they walk through the diner to an office in the back. Daisy gives him a cheerful ‘Hello’ and smiles hesitantly at Phil.

The black-haired woman from his previous visit is in the office. This close, he can feel an aura of power emanating from her and he suppresses a shudder. There’s so much he has to learn about his new life.

Clint introduces him and says, “Phil, this is Melinda May, owner of this diner and baddest of the badasses.”

She rolls her eyes at Clint. “You can call me May,” she tells Phil. “You’re a vampire.”

“Yes.” He hesitates, then adds, “Am I allowed to ask…”

“Normally, no, but I’ll make an exception. The common term is fox spirit.”

“Kitsune?” Phil’s heard of such things, but once again, he’s sure pop culture doesn’t have a clue about what that really means.

“Kitsune are Japanese,” May says. “I’m Chinese.”

She doesn’t seem upset, but Phil’s face goes pink. Too bad being a vampire doesn’t stop him from blushing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“You have questions about what it means to be a part of Fury’s clan?”

Phil takes the hint and spends the next hour asking May the questions he’d come up with during the day. They aren’t all about Fury’s clan specifically, but she graciously answers them if she can. He can’t get a read on her, but he thinks she doesn’t completely hate him. Clint spends the time on his phone, tapping at the screen and snorting at some of Phil’s questions. Phil ignores him.

May has some questions for him, as well, and Phil chooses his answers carefully. He doesn’t lie – lies mean too many things to keep track of, and it’s a terrible idea anyway since he doesn’t know what kind of abilities May has – but there are things he refuses to share with a complete stranger. If that affects his welcome, so be it.

They’re finishing up – Phil’s pretty sure they’re almost done anyway – when a red-haired woman enters the room. Not through the door, but through the wall to his left – the very solid-looking painted cement wall. Neither May nor Clint bat an eyelash.

“Hey, Nat,” Clint says, briefly glancing up from his phone. “New high score.”

“Enjoy it while you can,” the woman tells him. She rounds May’s desk, perches on the edge and leans down to kiss May’s cheek. May smiles, a tiny movement of her mouth that Phil would have missed if he’d blinked at the wrong moment.

“Natasha, this is Phil,” May says. “Phil, this is Natasha.”

Natasha, sitting as she is with her back mostly to him, spares him a sideways glance. She ignores Phil’s half-hearted wave. “Fury’s latest pet project?” Her voice is light. “Perhaps this one won’t be as useless.”

“Nat,” Clint protests. “Jimmy’s not useless. Plus he’s the only one who makes coffee the right way.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Are you almost finished?” she asks May. “I was hoping to whisk you away from all of this.”

“If Phil doesn’t have any more questions?” May directs that at him and Phil shakes his head. “Did you want to talk to Phil? He has a week to decide if he’d like to join us.”

“I know everything I need to know,” Natasha says.

That’s a dismissal if Phil has ever heard one and she hadn’t spoken a single word to him. He immediately thinks of a few things he should have considered before, but there’s no way he’s going to ask May more questions now. Maybe he’ll ask Clint once they’re alone.

Clint apparently also knows a dismissal when he hears one, because he stands up and says, “We have to get going. There are a few more people Phil should talk to before it gets too late.”

They walk out through the diner. For a brief moment, the sensation of being watched Phil had felt before returns, then vanishes quickly. They are half a block away before Clint finally speaks.

"That went well," he says. They are walking side by side; Clint is so close their shoulders brush against each other. The sidewalk is not that narrow: Phil doesn't move away.

"Did it?" he asks doubtfully.

"Melinda and Natasha take their time warming up to people. Most of us do," Clint admits. "But Natasha didn't try to eat you, unlike the last time a bloo- a vampire came sniffing around, so that's good."

"Natasha eats vampires?" What kind of being could do that?

"Not because she has to," Clint reassures him. "You're not part of her diet or anything. She just... can. If necessary." Clint’s voice trails off as if he realizes his words aren't comforting.

"Good to know." Phil resolves to stay as far away from Natasha as he can. No matter how well Clint thinks their first meeting had gone, Phil can tell when someone doesn't like him.

Clint stops and puts a hand on Phil's shoulder. Phil turns to face him.

"Natasha's great. She's just careful. And Mel doesn't have a problem with you, so Natasha won't either."

"Okay. You know them better than I do." Phil hadn't been expecting an enthusiastically warm welcome or instant acceptance, but he had been hoping for... something. Friendliness? Understanding? A feeling that he could belong with this group? Well, he has more people to meet. He can't make a decision based on just two people. _Two important people_ , his cautious side reminds him. _Important enough to be the first ones Clint introduced you to._ "Natasha's not the other vampire, is she?"

"No. He's... You won't be meeting him tonight." Clint takes a step back, and Phil suddenly realizes how close they're standing to each other. Despite the cold and Clint's unseasonal clothing, Phil can feel warmth radiating from him. He likes it, a little too much. He takes a step back too. A desperate need to deflect Clint’s attention – from what he’s not even sure himself – overcomes him and one of the questions that had occurred to him in May’s office jumps into his mind.

“Fury made it sound like whether or not I join your clan is all up to me,” Phil says. “But what if your clan doesn’t accept me?”

Clint blinks, then starts walking again. Phil hurries after him.

“It happens sometimes,” Clint says. “Not everyone who joins us ends up staying with us for long."

"What happens to them?" Phil is still very conscious of Fury's implied threat.

"Depends, but usually Fury finds them another clan. This way." Clint crosses the street without checking for cars.

"Who are we going to see now?" Phil lags behind a little, having taken the time to practice the street-crossing safety that had been drilled into him as a child. Supernatural powers were no match for lifelong habit.

"The pixies," Clint says. "Might as well get that one over with."

~

Five pairs of eyes stare at him. The pixies are slightly taller than him, though rather spindly and there are no wings in sight. They aren't identical, but there's an eerie similarity to them. They go by the name Ann, which is short for something Phil couldn't hear properly when one of them - he's still not sure which one - had introduced them, _We are Annsep-*!_ , with a voice like feedback through a staticky radio. They move as one, nodding their heads at the same time, crossing their arms, smiling perfunctory smiles that don't reach their eyes. They even blink at the same time.

"You wish to know of Fury." This time, all of their mouths move. The words are clear and seem to come from the air between them. As disconcerting as it is, Phil prefers it. Hearing just one of them speak had started his head throbbing and made Clint cover his ears.

"Yes." Phil isn't sure how to ask what he wants to know, but they have already decided what to say.

"Fury gives us shelter while we await our final nest mate. He stands against our Queen in all of her wrath. He keeps his word. If you are Fury’s, you will keep your word."

Phil waits, but they add nothing more. He suspects that he will walk away from every one of these get-to-know-you meetings with more questions than answers. Over by the window, Clint is wincing and rubbing at his temple.

"Of course," Phil tells Ann with a nod. "Did you want to ask me anything?"

There's a slight pause. "No. You can go now."

Phil isn't sure how to respond. The words, though blunt, had not been said unkindly.

"Thank you," Clint says and suddenly he's practically dragging Phil out the door. They’re halfway down the block before he slows down and lets go of Phil’s arm.

“That went quickly,” Phil says.

Clint stumbles over to the nearest wall and slumps against it, his hands clutching his head.

“Clint?” Phil takes a hesitant step toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“’mokay,” Clint mumbles. “Needaminnit.”

Phil stands in front of him, shielding him as much as he can from potential onlookers. Human trouble Phil can take care of – supernatural is another story. Phil isn’t foolish enough to believe that every non-human person in the neighborhood is part of Fury’s clan and it’s even less likely that all the clans live in peace and harmony.

Clint reaches out and grabs him, pulling him close. He drapes one arm over Phil’s shoulder and tucks his face in Phil’s neck. His other arm is wrapped around Phil’s waist. Phil holds his hands out to either side, careful not to touch Clint any more than he already is.

“Clint? What-”

“Y’smell good,” Clint says.

“Oh.” It must be a werewolf thing. Phil lowers his hands, then hesitantly starts to pat Clint’s shoulder. He can’t remember the last time he’d been this close to another person for any reason other than feeding.

“Hey,” a man shouts from across the street. He hurries toward Phil and Clint. Maybe it’s his casual disregard for traffic – he hadn’t bothered to check for cars – that gives Phil the slight suspicion that the newcomer is supernatural. Of course, a sample of two isn’t nearly enough to base his assumption on and what even is his life now that he’s seriously wondering about the street-crossing habits of previously mythical beings?

“What did you do to him?” As he gets closer, the man seems to be getting larger – he’s much bigger than he had looked from farther away. Maybe it’s a combination of the darkness and his puffy winter coat? “Get away from him. Clint?”

Phil holds his hands out again; Clint is still hanging onto him. “This is all his idea,” Phil says.

Clint lifts his head with a groan. “Sorry,” he mutters. His grip loosens and he pulls away to lean on the wall again. Phil puts some space between them and the man throws a dark look at him.

“Clint?” the man says again.

Clint rubs his temple. “I’m okay, Bruce. We were just talking to Ann.”

Bruce’s anger changes immediately to concern. “How bad is it? Do you want me to take you home?”

Clint shakes his head. “I have to introduce Phil around.”

“You’re the new vampire?” Bruce asks Phil. “Okay, Phil. I’m Bruce. You seem like a nice enough guy.” He turns back to Clint. “We’ve been introduced. Good enough?”

“Maybe you should let Bruce take you home,” Phil suggests. “We can start again tomorrow.”

Clint flicks a glance at him, then goes back to avoiding his gaze. Phil is suddenly overwhelmingly aware of Clint’s heartbeat, strong and quick, sending his blood coursing through his body. It’s tempting and Phil tries to ignore it – he shouldn’t need to feed again so soon.

“Fine.” Clint shrugs and adds, “It’s your de-.”

“Deadline. Yes, I’m aware.” At this rate, Phil’s going to meet maybe a dozen people before he has to make his decision. Will any of them actually want him to stick around? He assumes his borderline hostile reception has to do with being a stranger in what is essentially a closed community. The vampire thing doesn’t seem to be helping, but he can’t do anything about either of those things. This is already starting to feel like a waste of time and it’s only the first day. Night. He suppresses a sigh. “I’m going back to my apartment. Tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine,” Clint says again and he pushes away from the wall. Bruce takes Clint’s arm and, with a nod at Phil, leads him down the street. In another weird trick of the lighting, Bruce seems to have shrunk. Phil blinks, but nothing changes.

“Nice to meet you, Bruce,” Phil calls after them, then he turns and heads for home.

~

There’s a man standing in front of the door to Phil’s apartment. Phil considers the possibility that his visitor _isn’t_ supernatural and immediately dismisses it. Why else would someone show up now? He stops a few feet away. “Friend or foe?” He keeps the tension out of his voice. No sense in borrowing trouble, as his mother used to say.

“Friend, I hope,” the man replies. He holds out his hand. “Antoine Triplett. You can call me Trip. I’m with Garrett.”

Phil steps forward and shakes his hand. “Call me Phil. What brings you here, Trip?”

Trip looks up and down the hallway. “Okay if we do this somewhere more private? Doesn’t have to be here.”

“We can use my apartment.” The vampires already know where he lives and they can get in if they want to, invitation or no invitation (another myth busted – the only thing keeping them out is their own politeness). Trip moves back and lets Phil unlock the door. “Coffee?” he offers once they’re inside.

“Nah, man, my stomach can’t handle it anymore. I’ll take some water, though.  Heated up with honey and lemon if you’ve got any.”

“Water I can do, but I don’t have any honey or lemon.” Phil bustles around the kitchen, turning on his coffee maker, grabbing his coffee mug, and filling a glass with water from the sink. “Is that something I have to look forward to? No coffee?” He takes the glass out to Trip, who is sitting on Phil’s couch.

“Thanks. If you’re still able to drink it, you should be fine. This hits us all differently. Garrett can’t drink alcohol anymore – he complains about missing whiskey all the time, even though it’s been decades since he was turned.” Trip takes a sip of water and sets the glass down on the coffee table.

“That explains the donuts.” Phil stands there awkwardly. “So. Trip. Why are you here exactly?” he asks finally.

Trip smiles. “I figured I should come, when Garrett told us about you. He comes on a little strong, and I didn’t want that to be the only impression you have of our clan. We got a good group of people here; we take care of each other.”

“I see.” Phil settles into his armchair. “What about Pierce? What’s he like?”

Trip shrugs. “Nice enough guy. We hardly see him – he does a lot of traveling, keeping an eye on the clan’s business ventures, liaising with other vampire clans, that kind of thing. Most of the elders travel a lot, actually. We youngsters stick together and Garrett watches over us.” He rolls his eyes a bit.

“Youngsters?”

“Anyone turned in the last decade or so. I’ve been a vampire for about three years. Garrett said it’s been a couple of years for you?”

“Yeah.” That hadn’t come up during his conversation with Garrett at all. But it had with Fury. Something else Fury had disclosed without consulting Phil? And how had Garrett found his apartment in the first place? Fury again? If Clint had found him, anyone else could have done the same. His apartment is feeling less and less safe by the moment.

Trip interrupts his musings. “A couple of the others are slightly older. I could bring them by, introduce you? It’s hard to make a decision like this without getting to know us.”

“That’s a good idea.” It’s what he’s doing with Fury’s clan after all. Attempting to, anyway.

“Same time tomorrow, then?”

“Closer to dawn, actually. If that works for you?”

“Sure, man.” Trip stands up. “I’ll head out now. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Phil sees Trip to the door. After a final goodbye, he closes the door firmly, locks it and then triple checks each one. He almost places a chair under the door knob, but decides against it. He’s not that paranoid. Yet. Nothing’s going to happen. Probably.

He eyes the living room window and retreats to his thankfully windowless bedroom. It’s going to be a long night.

~

Phil wakes at dusk, still alive. He only feels slightly foolish.

~

That night and the few that come after follow a pattern. Clint introduces him to people. People like Daisy, the waitress at Mel’s Diner. Or Tony Stark, an actual billionaire who is the opposite of low profile. Phil doesn’t know what kind of supernatural being Daisy is, but Stark is literally magic with technology. Pepper Potts and James Rhodes, Stark’s keepers (or life companions, Phil isn’t clear which they are, though the roles seem to be interchangeable) may or may not be supernatural. Regardless they are a part of the clan.

Then there’s Thor, a demigod who is probably the actual Thor of myth and legend, not that Phil can get a clear answer on that. Thor’s girlfriend, Jane Foster, is human – mundane - but her assistant, Darcy, is not.

Phil meets Fury’s second-in-command, his wife Maria of the Hill, who gives him a cool nod and goes about her business. He meets shapeshifters from many lands, sprites, trolls, and beings he has no names for. Some can walk among the mundanes without a second glance, while others must remain hidden.

In short, Phil meets everyone except the vampire he’d been told was a part of Fury’s clan. Clint, who alternates between lingering well inside Phil’s personal bubble and keeping him at arm’s-length, won’t give him a straight answer when Phil asks about him.

That isn’t to say Phil doesn’t meet any other vampires. Each night upon his return, Trip shows up at his apartment with a different vampire. Like Grant Ward, a charming, if slightly arrogant, young man, who’s been a vampire for five years. And Victoria and Isabelle, who are about Phil’s age, vampirically. One night, Trip even brings one of the elders, a man named Jasper Sitwell, who gives off the same sense of power that Garrett had, but he’s less of a dick about it.

If Phil had to choose today, he would have a hard time deciding which clan to pick. One more night, and then he’ll have to.

~

“Last night,” Clint says as they walk down the street toward Phil’s final meeting.

“I’m sure you’re glad you won’t have to spend every night with me anymore.”

“You’re not so bad.” Clint bumps Phil’s shoulder with his own.

“Thank you.” Phil feels that strange feeling rising in him again. He knows it’s not hunger – he’d just fed the night before – but he doesn’t know how else to describe it. It happens every time Clint gets close and as much as Phil wants to spend more time with Clint, it will be a relief to get a break from it and the confusion it’s causing him. It’s stupid to want more time with Clint anyway; he’s made his opinion of vampires very clear over the last few days, wrinkling his nose every time he comes to Phil’s door and making less than subtle remarks about the company Phil is keeping.

“Here we are.” They’re standing in front of a nondescript apartment building. “They’re on the top floor. No elevator.”

“Of course.” Pre-vampire Phil would have run out of breath by the time they reached the top; he hadn’t been terribly out of shape, but there had been more sitting at desks in his previous life than he would have liked. As it is, he could have gone a lot faster and still have ended up looking as fresh as a daisy.

There are only two doors on this floor. Clint knocks on one of them and Captain America opens it. Phil freaks out internally. This can’t really be Captain America, of course, since Cap is a fictional character, but if there ever was a man who could be him in real life, it was this man.

“Steve,” Clint says. “I brought Phil to meet you guys.” His voice is quiet.

“Come in.” He steps aside and lets them in. “Sam,” he calls to the man sitting on the couch.

Sam joins them and Clint makes the introductions. Phil may be new to the world of the supernatural and he can’t always tell when a person is mundane or special, but these two are definitely not mundane. Nor are they vampires. There’s a slight otherworldly aura about them, something that reminds Phil of Fury. Neither man is wrapped in a pair of wings, though.

“Bucky’s still not feeling well,” Steve said. “I’ll see if he’s up to a short visit.”

Phil tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. There’s obviously a reason it had taken the whole week for Phil to meet the lone vampire in Fury’s clan. _Maybe it’s nothing_ , he tells himself, but he knows it’s not. Vampires don’t get stomach bugs.

Steve goes down a short hallway and knocks on a closed door. “Bucky? Clint’s here. With a friend.”

There’s an indistinct answer and Steve retreats to the living room. “He’ll be right out.”

They hardly have time to stand around in awkward silence before Bucky joins them. He moves hesitantly at first, but when he catches sight of Phil, his face hardens.

“You brought me out here to meet a _vampire_?” he spits out. He rounds on Phil. “You tell Pierce to stop sniffing around here. I’m never going back and there’s nothing, _nothing_ he can do to make me. I see you again, I’ll kill you. You hear me? Now get out.”

Bucky storms back to his room, ignoring Steve’s attempts to explain the situation.

“It’s been bad lately,” Sam tells Phil. “It’s not you. Once he calms down, we’ll tell him who you are again.”

Phil shakes off his dumbfounded surprise. _That_ was the person who was supposed to teach him? “And when will that be?”

“Excuse me?” Steve asks sharply.

“Once he calms down, you’ll tell him who I am, again apparently, and hopefully he won’t kill me. Maybe he’ll even agree to answer my questions, teach me a few things. When will that be?”

“Bucky isn’t well. We can’t snap our fingers and make him better.” Steve folds his arms across his chest, a heavy frown on his face.

“Exactly. This is my last day; I have to make a decision. It was… interesting to meet you all. Thank you.” Without waiting for Clint, Phil leaves the apartment.

He’s halfway home before Clint catches up to him.

“So that’s it?” Clint pulls him to a stop. “One bad meeting, and you go to the bloodsuckers?”

“I’m one of those bloodsuckers,” Phil reminds him and Clint flushes. “Fury’s entire selling point was that there was someone who could teach me what I need to know. Teaching me is obviously the last thing that man needs.” _Professional help is what he needs_ , Phil thinks, but he keeps that to himself.

“He’s not usually so bad,” Clint mumbles.

“Maybe around people who aren’t vampires.”

“So you’ve made your mind up, then? You aren’t staying?” Clint’s hand drops away from Phil’s arm and he takes a step back.

“Is there a reason I should?” Phil doesn’t know what Clint could say to make him stay, but he suddenly, fiercely hopes that Clint will say something, anything, that will change his mind. One week was not enough time, he realizes. He wants more.

“No.” Clint tucks his hands in his jacket pockets. “No, I guess not. See ya ‘round.” Then Clint turns and walks away. Phil watches him until he’s out of sight.

Once he’s back at his apartment, Phil wastes no time in calling Garrett.

“Heeeeey, Phil,” Garrett says jovially when Phil identifies himself. “What’s the news?”

“I’d like to accept your offer to join Pierce’s clan.” His words are calm despite the wild beating of his heart. He still doesn’t know if this is the right decision, but he has to do what’s best for him. Learning from other vampires is what’s best, he reassures himself.

“I’m real happy to hear that, Phil. I’ll send Ward and the others over to help you move your stuff.”

“Now? Tonight?” Phil hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.

“We’ve got plenty of open apartments. Now that you’re one of ours, it’s best if you don’t stay in Fury’s territory any longer than you have to.”

“All right. I’ll start packing, then.”

“You made the right choice, Phil. See you soon.” Garrett hangs up, leaving Phil to stare wildly around his apartment. His clothes will fit in his suitcase. The furniture had come with the apartment. He needs boxes for his books, does he have boxes?

Sooner than he had expected, there’s a knock at his door. When he opens it, Fury is on the other side. Without a word, Phil stands aside to let him in.

“I hear your meeting with Barnes didn’t go so well,” Fury says mildly.

“It really didn’t.”

“And you’re joining Pierce’s clan.”

“I am. I’m moving tonight, actually.” He’d worry about the broken lease later.

“Garrett always did move fast.” Fury paces around the room. “I’m sorry you don’t feel you can stay with us.”

“I can’t get what I need here.” It feels selfish, but if he doesn’t look out for himself, who will?

Fury stops abruptly and turns to face him. “Joining a clan isn’t a lifetime commitment. You can leave any time.”

“Thank you, but I’ve made my decision.”

“I understand that. You aren’t hearing me. You can leave a clan at any time. Take this.” He holds out a business card. _Nick Fury_ , it says, with a phone number printed underneath in black ink. It’s nowhere near as fancy as Garrett’s. “Feel free to call me for any reason.”

“What are you trying to tell me? Is there something I should know?”

“I really hope not, for your sake.” Footsteps sound out in the hallway. “Your ride’s here. Good luck.”

With that, Fury opens the door. He steps out past a surprised Ward and Trip, gives them a single nod, and strides down the hall, stepping through the elevator doors just before they start to close.

“He always did like a dramatic exit,” Ward sneers.

“You ready for this,” Trip asks him, smiling.

“Yeah,” Phil answers. He really hopes he is.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea got a whole lot bigger than I could write in the amount of time I had. Which means there will be more. :)


End file.
